


Dirty Work

by Orcteeth



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcteeth/pseuds/Orcteeth
Summary: Frank is captured by raiders. The raiders think they're slick. Frank knows otherwise.





	Dirty Work

**Author's Note:**

> Frank is nonbinary.

The room is dark, damp, dusty, and smells it. Frank hits the wall with a loud thud, stripped of their armor and weapons. They look around and take a mental note of the layout while one of the four raiders ties their hands behind their back. The three raiders they can see are positively beaming – they’re proud of themselves for having captured a Brotherhood paladin and are laughing, grinning, bragging. Frank grins back at them.

One of the raiders kicks Frank’s foot. “The hell are _you_ smilin’ at, tin can?”

“That insult only works if I’m in my power armor.” Frank says, still grinning.

Ropes – the raider tying their wrists – steps back, thumbs in his belt loops. “You gotta be worth a lot of caps.”

Another snorts. “Hell yeah! Those weapons, too!”

The fourth slaps Snort upside the head. “We ain’t gonna sell those, idiot. We’re gonna use'em.”

“Even better!”

“C'mon,” says Ropes, moving towards the door. “We’ve earned ourselves a little chem break.”

Slappy follows Ropes, with Snort immediately behind him and Tin Can taking up the rear.

Frank sighs and rests their head back against the wall, hands moving behind their back.

 

There’s no shortage of chems. Jet, Psycho, even Psychojet, these raiders have them all. They happily imbibe, laughing and telling the story of how they caught a paladin despite the fact that all of them were there in the first place. They don’t notice the door creak open over their own noise, nor do they notice the footsteps until it's too late.

Snort’s laughter stops abruptly and his face falls. Ropes’ eyes widen. Tin Can drops her Jet, which she never does.

Slappy blinks, raises an eyebrow. “What?”

A long, unnecessary sip through a straw makes her turn around, face to face with Frank. They lower their Nuka-Cola and wave with their fingers. “Hey.”

Ropes stands, a shot of Psycho still in his hand. “How’d you…”

Frank takes another sip calmly. “My girlfriend ties me up on the regular. She’s good. You’re not.” They frown, touching their chest apologetically. “Oh shit, you… you actually thought you were hot shit, didn’t you?”

“That’s it!” Ropes snarls, slamming the Psycho into his arm and grabbing his knife. “You’re fuckin’ dead!”

The four are on on far too many chems at once. Frank avoids Ropes’ wild slashes, ducks under Tin Can’s bat, deflects Slappy’s spiked knuckles easily. Snort can’t even get a shot off, fumbling with his gun with hands so shaky he outright drops it. Frank sidesteps a stab from Ropes, grabs his wrist, and guides the knife into Tin Can’s gut. She drops hard, clutching at her stomach.

Ropes yells, swings again at Frank. This time when they grab his wrist they wrench it, stripping the knife from his hand. They then turn and slice it across Slappy’s throat. A gunshot draws Frank’s attention to Snort. Frank charges while he struggles to chamber another bullet. He drops to his knees when the knife sinks in under his ribs and twists.

Ropes lunges in a rage, all animal and no thought. Frank swings the Nuka-Cola bottle into his head, stomping the side of his knee with a sickening _crack_ while he’s disoriented. They kneel on his lower back, grab his hair, and hold the now broken bottle to his throat.

“What the fuck are you?!”

“Brotherhood’s finest,” Frank says.

Ropes grunts but doesn’t struggle. “What d'you want?”

“I know you’re in with the Gunners. They don’t usually associate with raiders. Why?”

“Gunners are just…” he swallows, tries to hide his panic, “…just raiders playing army. We supply each other.”

Frank presses the bottle against flesh, drawing blood. “Supply what?”

“Chems! Guns! Info! Whatever they want!” He answers. He sounds dangerously close to crying. “I don’t know anything else!”

Frank sneers and stands, tossing the bottle far out of reach. “Get on your knees.”

Ropes does as he’s told. Frank picks up Snort’s gun, presses it to the back of Ropes’ head, and fires. They deliver the same fate to Tin Can instead of letting her bleed out, dropping the gun on the floor afterwards. They recover their gear from a chest and find their way out of the hideout. Firing a vertibird signal into the air, they sigh and pull out another Nuka-Cola to sip on, not at all looking forward to reporting back to Maxson with nothing of worth.


End file.
